The Gift of the Majors, of Captains, and Corporals
by Jo Z. Pierce
Summary: It's Christmas Eve at MASH 4077. What happened to the mail?
1. Mail Call

_I don't own MASH. I also don't own anything that O'Henry wrote, either. My pseudonnym, however, is due in large part to one character in particular..._

_Written as a stocking stuffer for Bonetree in the 2007 Yuletide Obscure Fandom Fanfiction Exchange. Although for the life of me, I don't know why anyone would call MASH obscure or rare. Go figure._

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**The Gift of the Majors, Of Captains, and Of Corporals**

by Jo Z. Pierce

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"No, sir," the corporal answered, just as his commanding officer began his question.

"Anything in the mail for me, Radar? I mean, of a personal nature?"

Walter O'Reilly, company clerk of Mobil Army Surgical Hospital #4077, placed a half dozen official letters and reams of paperwork on colonel Sherman T. Potter's large desk. The corporal - known affectionately as _Radar_ for his ability to know what was going to happen before it actually did - lowered his eyes in sympathy. He knew that this was the last mail delivery before Christmas, and his commanding officer had not yet received anything from his wife.

"Don't worry, sir," the young corporal added, as he made his way for the door. "It's probably still in the mail."


	2. Gifts of the North Koreans

"Those thoughtful North Koreans!" Captain B.J. Hunnicutt joked grimly, as the nurse helped him into a new set of surgical gloves. "They just _had_ to make sure we had something to open up on Christmas Eve."

Aside from the Christmas theme of the grim jokes, it was impossible to tell that it was Christmas Eve in Korea; the chatter and the black humor in the operating room was no different than usual. Humor, although dark and biting, was the typical escape from the death and violence all around the doctors and nurses stationed at this MASH unit.

"That's right." Captain Hawkeye Pierce replied sarcastically. "Nothing like finding a little toy soldier underneath your tree."

_"Pierce!"_ Colonel Potter snapped from an operating table on other side of the O.R.  
"I've had enough! And that goes for you, too, Hunnicutt! Can't you have at least a little respect today? For the birthday of Our Lord!"

It was a rare occasion that the Colonel brought up religious imagery to anyone other than Father Mulcahy. It was an even rarer occasion when he would raise his voice in official military manner. But when he did, there was no mistaking that the old doctor was in command and in charge. And annoyed.

The O.R. fell silent, as the echo of the colonel's order faded. Hawkeye could hold his tongue when it was obvious that he had crossed a line, if and when he wanted to. Seeing the Colonel so upset at their grim humor caused him great concern. It caused everyone in the room concern.

Aside from medical comments and requests for equipment, the next two hours in the O.R. were passed in silence.


	3. A Cancelled Call to Hannibal

The colonel checked his watch. He probably should make an appearance at the Christmas party tonight. The festivities were sure to be bittersweet, in a mess tent that was better known for taking life rather than sustaining it. Still, the men and women under his command always tried to make do with the best that they had. Of course, they'd rather be spending the holiday stateside with their families. But since that was not possible, the unit tried to come together with their army family in Korea for some form of merry making.

But celebrating just didn't seem right to the Colonel. Not tonight.

As many times as he had been away from his Mildred on Christmas, stationed somewhere across the globe, it never got any easier. She was a saint of a woman for putting up with all these years of missed holidays. For some reason, this year was especially hard.

Maybe he was just getting too old for this.

Colonel Potter sat back in his chair and sighed as he looked at the photograph of his wife permanently stationed on his desk. After a few moments, he got up, walked through the swinging doors, and sat down at the desk in Radar's office. He picked up the phone, and tried to make another call, stateside.

"Yes. I'm trying to reach Hannibal, Missouri..." His voice faded over the line as the name of his hometown passed his lips. "No. On second thought. Never mind." Knowing how self indulgent it was, he cancelled the personal call.

He sat back in the clerk's seat, just as there was a knock on his door. The cold December air blew into the room as a private rushed in.


	4. Christmas in the Mess

The mess hall was oddly decorated for the holiday. All decorations at the 4077th's parties were unusual, usually made with whatever supplies and personal effects that could be spared. But this time, the usual toilet paper was too precious to waste as streamers. The best that they could do was a small tree decorated with painted tongue depressors and strings of popcorn.

"What happened, Radar?" Hawkeye asked the young enlisted man as he sat on the edge of a bench in the mess tent. Hawkeye was dressed as Santa Claus, but he was anything but jolly, with that look of concern on his face

"Well, it's Mrs. Potter..."

"Oh no..." Major Margaret Houlihan said, fearing the worst, as she sat down next to Radar.

"Oh, it's nothing like that... I hope."

"What is it?" B. J. asked, also concerned.

"Well, a few weeks ago, I overheard the colonel on the phone with Mrs. Potter..."

"Overheard?" Hawkeye teased his long time friend. Radar rolled his eyes. Everyone knew that his office was right next to the colonel's. As a result, there really were no secrets.

"They were, well, having an argument."

"About what?" B.J. asked. A devoted family man himself, he knew how even a minor spat could strain a marriage, especially when they were separated over the holidays. "Did you hear?"

"No. I don't know. But that's not it." Radar fidgeted in his seat, as if he was about to reveal a great secret. "I hope it's just a delay in the mail, but he's been waiting for something in the mail from her. But nothing came. Not even a Christmas card."

The two captains looked up at each other, understanding the situation better now.

"And Mrs. Potter is real good about that sort of thing! She never forgets a birthday or holiday or nothing!" The corporal let out a small, nervous laugh.

"Well, like you say, Radar, maybe it is just a delay in the mail," B.J. offered this as the best reassurance he could. "These things happen all the time."

Hawkeye got up, plotting something in his mind. "Yeah, but there has to be some way to at least make him Ifeel/I better."

"Got anything in mind, Santa Claus?" B.J. asked.

"Not yet," Hawkeye responded, almost lyrically.

"Well," Radar chimed in. "Maybe I do."


	5. Mail Call, part II

"Sorry. It seems that somehow this package for your C.O. got sent to up to the 8063rd instead"  
The private held out the package. Just then, he noticed the colonel's rank on his collar. The private stood up straight, saluted, and added a quick "Sir!"

"At ease, son. It's ok." The colonel got up, looking at the package. The return address clearly said Hannibal, Missouri in that old familiar handwriting. He smiled, and saluted back to the private.

"Merry Christmas, private."

"You old fool..." he thought to himself. "She'd never hold a little spat against me...Not at Christmas." He laughed to himself as he returned to his office, thinking of all the other times the mail came late.

Seated at his desk, he carefully opened the package. On top, in a small envelope, was a Christmas card and a long letter affectionately signed by his dearest wife. Tucked in between the pages were three snapshots of the family gathered around a Christmas tree. His daughter... his grandson... the whole family.

"I'll be... She probably set that dang thing up a month early, just to get that photo," he mumbled to himself, choking a little from the growing lump in his throat. Every year that he was away she did, but it always seemed to surprise him, somehow.

He stared at the photographs a few minutes, then carefully placed them on the table. His hands shook slightly, but not from age. His emotions began to surge as he started to unwrap the small parcel. He took a deep breath, steadied his hands, then proceeded. Even with no one around, it wasn't right for him to loose his composure.

Inside, he found a warm pair of gloves, a few cigars, a set of new paintbrushes. Although just a few small luxuries from home, they were perfect. But it really didn't matter what was in there. It never did. Just knowing it was there on his desk made everything seem alright.

He held the warm gloves in his hand, then slipped them on. They felt nice on the cold winter night. Then he checked his watch. He was due to relieve Major Winchester from Post-Op in a few minutes. With that, he gathered up the papers, the package, and the photos and once again left his office, turning out the lights behind him.


	6. The Gift of the Magi

The small group of officers, and two enlisted men gathered in Major Houlihan's tent.

"This is a wonderful thing you are doing, Radar" Father Mulcahy began, pride in his emotional voice. "The true meaning of selflessness of Christmas!"

"Yes," Major Houlihan agreed. "It is a lovely thought."

"Well, it was Hawkeye's idea too."

"Oh, no, Radar." Hawkeye responded, wagging his finger at the corporal. "This dastardly little plot is_ all_ yours..."

"Well, it's the least we can do," Radar stated, sadly. "I can't let the Colonel spend the holiday thinking Mrs. Potter forgot about him." The boy ended with an uncomfortable giggle.

Hawkeye crossed his arms around his red chest and held his hands underneath his armpits. He jogged in place a little trying to keep warm. A few of the others smiled at the sight of a tall, thin,  
and freezing Santa.

"Well, there are a few nice things from the nurses on the bed," Margaret said.

Hawkeye quickly replied. "Well, I'll unwrap them later."

An annoyed Margaret tried to ignore the jogging Santa. She corrected herself and pointed to her bed. "All the nurses brought those gifts over for Radar's plan." Next to the pillow was a small stack of Christmas cards, placed back in their original envelopes. There was also a small - but priceless - collection of gifts. There were tins of fudge, some nylon stockings, and a few assorted and priceless trinkets sent from home. Most were rewrapped in the original brown paper they came in. A few, however, sat naked. There was no shame in that, since much of the brown paper had already been sacrificed as kindling for the fires to heat the cold tents.

It really wouldn't matter, though, for the illusion.

"Yeah, some of the enlisted men brought a few things, too." Radar pointed down to an old mail sack slumped on the floor. A small lump on the bottom hinted at a few parcels and cards.

After a moment of looking at each other, Father Mulcahy offered up the first package. "Well, this was supposed to go to the children at the orphanage," he said, regret in his voice. "But, I guess, we're all children in _His_ eyes." He glanced up towards the ceiling, and smiled, then placed the wrapped package on the Major's bed. No one dared ask the priest what was inside. It was irrelevant.

B.J. touched and caressed a photo of his wife and little girl with his finger. He smiled, then kissed it, and stuffed it back into the Christmas card from which it came. He opened the tin in his arm and grabbed a bite of a crumbling cookie. He quickly closed it again as Hawkeye tried to reach in for a quick piece, too. BJ hugged the tin as he pulled it away from the thieving Santa, then stuffed both tin and card into some torn brown paper and tied them with twine. He sadly placed the parcel on the bed.

Margaret held up a new scarf. Needlessly embarrassed, she explained that she had already burned the box and wrapping papers it came in. She placed it down on the bed with four Christmas cards on top.

"The Gift of the Magi..." Father Mulcahy chuckled. "Or in this case, The Gift of the Major..."

Hawkeye stuffed an empty liquor bottle into a cardboard box, filled with crumpled sheets of newspaper from Crabapple Cove.

"An _empty _bottle, Captain?" the major scolded, with eyebrows raised.

"Does it matter?" Hawkeye responded, with a smirk. "You know, it's the newspapers that hurt.  
I didn't even get to read them yet."

"And they could have heated the Swamp for at least 3 minutes," B.J. added.

All eyes turned to Klinger as he stood motionless, looking down at his hands. He held a long, pink feather boa. He sighed deeply. Closing his eyes tightly, and gripping the boa just as much, he extended his arms out in front of him.

"Go ahead! Take it! Before I change my mind" he said, in a dramatic voice. "I can't bear to watch."

Major Charles Emerson Winchester III stood silently at the other side of the tent. As if on cue, he looked over to Radar. He nodded his head slightly as he gently kicked a perfectly wrapped crate lying at his feet.

"Thank you, Major." Radar said as he approached him, and took the offering over to the other side of the tent. He initially struggled, as it was heavier than it appeared.

"May God, and all of civilized society, forgive me," Charles mumbled, as the corporal took the package.

Hawkeye leaned over, motioned towards Charles' gift, and whispered to his best friend. "What's that, Beej?"

"I think it's a few of his records."

"Really?"

Without a word, B.J. smirked, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, indicating yes.

"Well, in that case, there really is a God!"

"Well, he answered _your_ prayers..." B.J. responded, pointing to the crate filled with records. Father Mulcahy, overhearing the conversation, smirked and rolled his eyes.

"So, what is Mrs. Potter getting the Colonel, this year?" B.J. asked with sincere curiosity.

Radar reached down to the bed and held up a set of handmade, knitted gloves.

"That's nice, Radar," B.J. said in approval. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.

"Yeah. My mom made them for me." Then he held up some brown paper with writing on it. "I tried to make the address label look like her writing. But I guess it doesn't matter."

"What about a card?" Margaret said, in a bit of a panic. "She wouldn't send them without a card!"

"Well, it could have gotten lost..." the father suggested. No one responded to challenge him.

"So, is that it?" the father continued. All in attendance looked around and agreed.

Radar quickly began to stuff the mail bag with the parcels. It was the oldest, most ratty sack Radar could find.

"And so he isn't suspicious..." Radar stuffed a few official looking envelopes into the bag for good measure.

"I don't know," Margaret said skeptically. "It doesn't look ...bad enough!"

"I'll take care of that," Hawkeye answered, as he pulled a canteen out of his pocket. He opened it, took a small sip of the cheer it contained, and poured the rest over the bag. Margaret smiled, trying to hide some of her guilt at her comment earlier. Then her smile faded as she further surveyed the situation.

"Oh! No! My tent! It smells like Rosie's!!"

"Yeah," Hawkeye chimed in. "But Rosie's never sees as much traffic as _your_ tent does..."

The Major stood up tall and flashed him angry glare, accompanied by a stern "Captain Pierce." Hawkeye, in return, simply smiled back.

"Oh, Hawkeye..." the Father added, holding back a laugh.

"Ok," Radar said, taking control. "Now we gotta kick it around a little. Come on, Klinger,"

Klinger approached the bag and jumped on top of it. He cried out "Oh no!" as the sound of breaking glass came out of the dirty bag beneath his feet.

"You ok?" B.J. asked, concerned.

"No!" Klinger cried back. "Look!"

Klinger pointed down to the bag. A few pink feathers flew out of a hole in its side. He stepped back, with a tragic look in his eye. Radar rolled his eyes, then took over. First he kicked it a few times. Then he struggled, picked up the bag, and dropped it.

"Ok. Ok. That's probably enough," Klinger said, as he reached for the bag. "Now, I'll bring it out back, and light a little match."

"Oh! Be careful, Klinger. Not too much!" Radar cried out. "Captain Pierce poured a whole lot of alcohol on that!"

"Don't worry, Radar. I'm not gonna let it burn too much," he said as he dragged the bag on the floor. "After all of this is through, I plan on salvaging what I can of those feathers!"


	7. Final Mail Call

"I hate to bother you with this simple stuff, Colonel... but... this seems like a special case," Radar said sheepishly, as he poked his head into Post-Op.

"Oh?" the Colonel replied, looking up from his seat as he checked a patient's chart. He was used to slipping back and forth between the roles of doctor and commanding officer. It was no trouble.  
He called over a nurse, and indicated that he would be back in just a few minutes.

"Well, sir, we just got a delivery from the 8063rd."

"This time of night?" The colonel was suspicious. Not only was the hour late, but two mail calls from the 8063rd seemed very odd.

"You'd better come and see, sir." Radar led his C.O. back to his office. "It seems they got some of our mail. And since it's Christmas, they probably wanted to make sure we got it in time. You know. For the holiday."

"Oh." His suspicions faded away. It seemed there was a lot of misplaced mail this holiday. The Colonel nodded his head.

"Yes, sir. They got one of our mail bags this morning. I guess when they tried to send it up here earlier, but... well... somehow it got caught in the middle of some crossfire, and..."

"Never mind, Corporal," the Colonel interrupted with a sigh. He had heard every story in the book, most of them strange and inexplicably complex. This one promised to be no different.

"Well, it seems that the bag got beat up real good."

"How bad?"

"Real bad. And it caught on fire! Anyway, I thought the C.O. should take a look at it first. You know..." He shrugged. "I thought there should be a witness and all, in case there was anything important."

"Good thinking, son.."

Radar picked up the very dirty, scorched, torn and tattered mail bag. A few burnt Christmas cards fell out of a hole on the bottom of the bag. A few ash covered pink feathers floated away.

"Well... Flaming Phillies...would you look at that." The colonel sighed, thinking about how disappointed the men and women under his command would be. "Well, no use crying over spilt milk and cookies."

Radar chuckled, understanding the Christmas reference. Colonel Sherman T. Potter stood up,  
ready to take charge of this important task.

"Let's see what we have, then..."

Radar cleared off his desk a bit, and they placed the bag on top.

"Aw... geez, Colonel," Radar moaned, as they opened the bag. "So many gifts, and cards... most of them ruined."

The first thing they pulled out was the small crate. The brown paper was burnt, and the address label illegible. "Go ahead" the colonel indicated, as Radar pried open the top and pulled out several records, protected by large amounts of newspaper. The colonel read the first one,  
frowned, and placed it back in the crate.

"Looks like Major Winchester's. They seem to be ok, though. Probably not a scratch," the old man said, as he reached in for the next package. Radar placed the crate on the floor, mumbling something about how upset Captain Pierce was going to be.

"This looks like it was for B.J." the colonel said, shaking his head sadly, as he saw the singed edges of a photo of two beautiful blondes -one woman and one child- peaking out from the wrappings of a burnt package.

The two slowly picked through the Christmas cards and packages which had been water logged with alcohol, burned, and then dried. Every so often, a pink feather floated by.

"Poor Klinger..." the corporal said, sympathetically.

They placed the packages and cards that could be identified in one pile. The others which were ruined beyond recognition, or had been separated from their original packaging and labels, were placed in another.

"Ok, look here, Colonel. This looks like Mrs. Potter's handwriting." Radar pulled out some plain brown paper with the remnants of a packaging label. Nothing was inside. He handed it to a confused colonel. Radar then reached inside towards the bottom of the bag and pulled out a pair of knitted gloves.

"I guess this is what came in it, colonel." Radar offered them to him. Although slightly singed around the edges, they were relatively undamaged.

"Well. I'll be..." The colonel chuckled, as a large lump began to rise up in his throat. "I don't know what to say!"

"Those really are swell, Colonel," Radar said with a big smile on his face. "Mrs. Potter is swell,  
too."

"You know, Radar, I couldn't ask for any better." He looked at his company clerk, and smiled.

"No, sir..."

The old surgeon reached over to the young man. He loved his company clerk as if he were his own son. Maybe even more. He placed a hand on the short corporal's shoulder.

"No. I certainly don't deserve..." He paused, as he held back the emotion swelling up in his throat. "I don't deserve this, at all..."

"Yes, you do, sir." Radar smiled at his C.O. He also tried to hold in the emotion as he looked up at the father he never had. "It's just too bad there's no letter, or card. Gee..." Radar looked in the bag again, then surveyed the mess on his desk.

"That's ok, son. I couldn't ask for anything more. You don't need a letter to know how much you mean to someone." The colonel sighed deeply, looked at the pair of gloves and smiled. "I'll be! Hand knitted, too! But, you know what, son? Every year, she sends me the same darn thing!"

"Sir?"

"Gloves! I guess she figures I can never have enough gloves over here. But I have another pair,  
back in my tent, that she sent me for my birthday. Brand new, and they're just waiting to be worn!"

"I wouldn't say that too loudly, sir." Radar chuckled nervously. "There are a lot of folks out there who are pretty cold."

"I guess so, son." The colonel looked at his young corporal. "Well, anyway, if you'd like these,  
Radar, I bet you'd get more use out of them than I will." Colonel Potter held the gloves out in front of him, offering them to a surprised corporal.

"Sir?"

"Go ahead. Take them, son..."

"Sir, I couldn't." Radar shook his head and began to back up slightly.

"Corporal. That's an order."

For a moment, Radar almost thought he saw the colonel wink at him. He couldn't be sure. It may have just been a twinkle in his eye.

_-The End-_


End file.
